Dreams of Things Lost
by BeaconMarker
Summary: Bob finds himself haunted by what could have been.


_AN: I decided to err on the side of safety on the warnings._

The last ten minutes had been a blur. The bright blue lights of his containment unit peeled away to reveal the dark interior of a cavernous room. His muscles were aching from hanging from his restraints, and he couldn't feel his hands or feet for the blood circulation was cut off by the heavy metal orbs latched onto his extremities. He was electrocuted for information he didn't have, then scared half to death at the sound of his panicked wife's voice and the mention of their children.

Then suddenly none of the physical strain mattered.

Syndrome disregarded the pleas for mercy. Ignored the fact that _children_ were aboard. The rockets hit the jet transporting his family. They were dead. Gone forever.

All he could hear as his face hardened and he almost committed a murder was the sound of Helen's voice bouncing around his skull. The beautiful, sultry voice he loved to hear so much. The voice he'd never hear again. Fearful; calling for help.

And it was his fault.

He released Mirage from his grip, and Syndrome sent some comment about his weakness his way, but it didn't reach him. His own thoughts drowned out the abrasive voice and the buzz of his restraints.

He started to cry. He hadn't cried in years. Eventually, the containment unit closed, and his sobs reverberated through the tiny enclosed space. He stared blankly at the blue fluorescent lights, his mind far from where he hung, limp and helpless.

They were dead. He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye. He hadn't had a chance to say half of the things he wanted, even _needed_ to say.

He was so proud of Dash. He had wanted to tell him how sorry he is that he's had to keep his powers secret, that if he could, he'd let him become the star of every sports team at his school. He'd let him run around the city at lightning speed. He'd let him do whatever he felt happy doing. He wanted to apologize for keeping him under wraps. The last time he'd shown his son even the slightest trace of pride, it had been for misbehaving.

He never got to comfort Violet. To tell her how beautiful she is. How fast she's growing up and making him feel old. He knew she was uncomfortable in her own skin and shy beyond belief and he yearned to tell her never to fade into the background because she's a marvel. He wanted to nurture that fiery spirit she had at home and see how far she could go. He never got to talk to her about boys and how stupid they can be. He had barely spoken to her at all as of late, let alone tell her all that.

And Helen... The love of his life. The single most powerful, headstrong, driven, beautiful, mesmerizing woman he'd ever met. He had been so stupid. Ignoring her, leaving her at home to frolic about with robots, pretending to be a hero again. He'd give anything now to go back, to sit with her and talk, to hold her, to feel her soft lips on his. He knew and loved every inch of her and felt his chest tighten just thinking of her smile. All he wanted was to stare into her eyes and admire the way their soft caramel glowed red in the sun, matching the passion always burning in her heart. He longed to tell her just how much he loved her. In all the years they'd spent together, he hadn't done that enough.

Jack-Jack was only a baby. He hadn't even lived, he didn't deserve to die. Had he been with them? He couldn't have been. There was no way. No way any of them were dead! This couldn't be real, this had to be some sick joke—

Still weeping, he began to writhe against the electric binding holding him back. If he could get out, he could get his revenge. His thrashing grew more and more frenzied, he was using every ounce of super strength he had, and his hushed cries had turned to ear-splitting screams. He had to get out. He could hear Helen's panicked voice again, though this time she was calling his name. She knew it was his fault, if he hadn't gotten into all this, they wouldn't have followed him. He had to get out, he had to. He lashed out—

And he jolted awake.

Helen let out a sigh of relief when he shot upright. "Bob?" She repeated for what had to be the hundredth time and gently reached out to lay a hand on his cheek, surprised to find it soaked. Not in sweat, but tears.

He leaned into her hand, grateful for her warmth, glad to feel her touch.

He drew in a long, rattling breath, then pulled her into a hug so tight she had to quickly flatten herself to avoid injury. She closed her eyes and hugged him back. She stretched her arms a little so she could wrap around him fully—she knew he found that more comforting—and she was prepared to hold him for as long as he needed to be held.

They embraced for what felt like an eternity, Bob trying his hardest to draw a full breath, and Helen doing her best to make him feel safe, patiently waiting for him to feel secure enough to tell her what was haunting him.

It had been almost three months since the events on Nomanisan, but they both knew that that kind of stress could torture you for far longer.

A few moments later, Bob loosened his grip and Helen was able to return to her normal shape, his hands still resting on her waist, and hers on his shoulders.

She widened her eyes in a silent plea for information. If she knew what he had been seeing, she might be able to help. She watched her husband try to steel himself and realized that when he spoke he'd try to spare her the details.

"It was a... bad dream," he said slowly, avoiding his wife's gaze. If he told her everything she'd think he was being ridiculous. They were fine and that was months ago. He was stronger than a silly dream. "I'm fine."

"Hey," she whispered, and caught his chin before he could turn away. "You're obviously not fine. What happened?"

"I had a bad dream, and then you woke me up."

"What happened in the _dream_ , Bob."

He exhaled slowly. Part of him knew going through it again could be therapeutic, but another was afraid, wondering if he could stomach reliving that warped reality.

"I was back, on the island. In the chamber," he began, searching Helen's face, thinking he'd see her interest fade once she knew what he'd dreamt, but it didn't. Her features grew more concerned, and she returned his gaze, willing him to continue. "I was just hanging there. Everything was exactly the same as before. I heard you over the radio begging them to stop, and then they said it was a confirmed hit. You and the kids were gone."

Bob lowered his head and stared at his hands in his lap. A tear splashed down into the palm of his hand, and Helen gently took his hands in hers. "It's okay, honey, we're okay," she said, reaching up and wiping the fresh tears out from under her husband's eyes. "After that, I found you, and we all made it out just fine."

"But that just it," he choked, "that's... you never came. No one ever came. You were dead, and Violet and Dash and _Jack Jack_ as far as I knew! You were _actually_ gone. And it was all my fault, Helen! If I hadn't been so stupid, so selfish, so—so pigheaded, you never would have been in danger to begin with. I put the kids at risk—I put you at risk. I just," he took a deep breath in and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Bob. Hey, hey. It's not your fault," she breathed, a tear rolling down her own cheek now. He looked up at her. "I mean, not entirely. Yes, you were a little pigheaded. Yes, you made some mistakes along the way. But you did not put us in danger. I decided to follow you. It was my choice; and I made it when I married you. For better or for worse, sweetie. Remember that. And, as scary as it is, the kids made that choice too. They snuck onto the plane with me! You can't blame yourself for _everything_ that happened, and you certainly can't blame yourself for the things that didn't. We're okay."

With that, she moved closer to her husband and pressed her cheek to his chest, wrapping her arms around him again. He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply and enjoying the smell of her lavender shampoo. If he could stay like this forever, with her, he'd be content.

His tears dropped into her hair and hers onto his shirt, slowing over time as they drifted off into a now peaceful sleep.


End file.
